


indigo blues

by adashofblue



Category: NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Designer!Minhyun, Dry Humping, Fashion Journalist!Seongwu, M/M, some kind of slow burn but it's not that slow lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 11:39:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13880091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adashofblue/pseuds/adashofblue
Summary: ong seongwu learns that love comes with a pair of hands stained with blue ink, a heart ripped and sewed, and a certain hwang minhyun.





	indigo blues

**Author's Note:**

> to the dearest prompter: I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted. I ended up straying too far from your already amazing prompt but I really hope you'll like this!
> 
> also, this is entirely unbetaed and I clicked 'post' with bleary eyes so uh... please prepare yourself before reading this mess

⚘✾⚘

Monday means a jam-packed subway full of men and women desperate to get to work in one shape, a bunch of tired people waiting for the elevator in mighty skyscrapers, and a cup of the strongest coffee Starbucks could offer. For Seongwu, Monday means a constellation of to-do post-its on the wall, raw files of photos from last week’s shoot waiting to be sorted on his desk, and unfinished articles piled on his Macbook’s desktop.

Seongwu has clocked down at least three shots of espresso by the time he ran to the office’s lobby, a new personal best—or worst, depending on how you see it. It takes him agonizing ten minutes to calm down his breathing in the elevator, so it’s definitely a little bit of both.

He feels awful for hoping that his boss gets stuck in traffic somewhere or somehow got her suit stained by her daily matcha tea, but like most prayers he tossed to the Bae Doona cover plastered above Kibum’s desk, this one isn’t granted. The sound of sturdy heels and Kibum’s murmur come from the elevator, a telltale sign that his boss, Ms. editor-in-chief, Im Nana is coming to her office. Seongwu squirms in front of her office, eyes trained on the ground. Im Nana calling a senior editor to her office is not always a good thing—she always prefers short, almost passive-aggressive emails for practicality.

Nana smiles at him, clad in a predictable, smart Boss black suit. “Ah, Seongwu, punctual as always,”  
Seongwu bows rigidly, a habit he formed back in his apprentice days. “I was told by Secretary Kim this morning that you were looking for me, ma’am,”  
Nana claps. “That’s right. Come in, Seongwu,”

Nana’s office offers no warmth albeit colored in soft, earthy tones. Her office is designed to be devoid of emotions and thick of ‘creative and witty vibes’ W Korea always aims for. With his best professional smile, Seongwu sits on the lone chair in front of her. Nana smiles, hands on her iMac’s keyboard.

  
“Relax, Seongwu. It’s not like I’m going to call you out for that bad pun you put in last month’s edition,”

The corners of her mouth are pulled up with a hint of mischief. _She’s humoring you, Seongwu,_ his mind supplies.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of Hwang Minhyun?” Nana looks back at her computer, fingers flying on the keyboard.

“Yes, ma’am, one of the crowd’s favorite shows last F/W season,”

Nana guffaws, eyes slightly crinkled. “No, not the brand necessarily,” she turns her iMac a bit so Seongwu can see her screen. A picture of a raven-haired young man, walking on the runway with a bouquet of forget-me-nots in his hands.

“Hwang Minhyun, the designer,” she casually explains. Well, of course Seongwu knows—his name has been a household name since his SFW debut five years ago.  
“I’m afraid I don’t know him personally, Ms. Im,” Seongwu sheepishly answers, slightly laced with humor.  
Nana laughs again. “Of course you don’t, but I know him,” she kindly elaborates. “Listen, Seongwu, the reason I called you here is because he’s currently doing a new project,” her hands pulled out a single paper from a manila folder.

 _Blue by HMH_ , it reads on the email title, apparently screen-captured directly from Nana’s phone.  
“I asked him why his show isn’t on the list for Hera’s SFW this spring, and he only said he’s currently planning something else, a secondary project of some sorts,” Nana smiles, seemingly remembering an inside joke. “I was his project mentor in Paris almost six years ago, can you believe that?” Nana sighs, shaking her head. “And for old time’s sake, I pestered him to spill. He said instead of showing a spring collection for the main brand, he decided to debut his secondary brand on the last day—some kind of surprise event he planned since last year,”

His boss suddenly looks back at him. “Also, I asked him to give us special scoop, or, well, formally, an exclusive behind-the-scene of this secret secondary brand,”

Her carefully manicured fingers tap the glass desk, creating a rhythm that irks Seongwu’s nerves. “You’re not going to like this, but I want you to do it anyway,” she explains.  
“I want you to stay in his workshop next week, exactly two weeks before the SFW debut. I want you to dissect the whole making of his brand,” her perfectly drawn eyebrow twitches, “or, well, anything from it that’s good enough to print, to be honest.” She hands him the paper. “He’s not the most extroverted person and unfortunately, not very open about the vision behind his brand. I think you might’ve heard that too,”

Seongwu’s mind flies to the SFW afterparty last F/W season, where reporters were flocking this particular Hwang Minhyun. Eunwoo who was with him that night told him Hwang Minhyun is so hard to reach, and he never holds a press conference before or after his shows. A mysterious, handsome designer with a knack of surprises—Seongwu’s sure that would sell.

“I pulled some _very hard_ strings for this, had to hunt down his publicist _and_ his head secretary, and yesterday he finally agreed. I know this is not in your job description as a senior editor, but obviously I can’t send the newbies,” an exasperated eyeroll thrown, “or interns, to do this. He also specifically asked a male, because his workshop is located in a house in Busan and he doesn’t want any rumor,”

Nana hesitates. “I’m sorry for putting you on such a difficult spot, especially when you have the spring/summer mid-fashion week editorial to prepare,” Seongwu uncurls his fingers under the desk. Apologies mean nothing at this point. Seongwu knows Nana already put his name on the KTX ticket directly to Busan next week.  
“I understand,” Seongwu sighs.  
Nana dismisses him with a victorious grin on her face.

Kibum grins at him, sitting on his plush leather chair. “You’re lucky, Ong,” Kibum hands him a white manila folder with W sign across its cover.  
“A week with a handsome, talented designer that has Ms. Im Nana wrapped around his finger is definitely going to be _fun_ ,” he continues mischievously.

Seongwu’s not sure how to answer that.

⚘✾⚘

Thursday comes with a chirpy sound of an incoming message to his work email, and Yoojung, his intern rushes to the main photo studio to inform him.

 _To Mr. Ong Seongwu_  
_Senior Editor, W Korea_  
_Gangnam-gu, Seoul_

_Good morning, I am Choi Minki, personal assistant to Mr. Hwang Minhyun. In this email I have provided the standard confidentiality agreement and other additional documents Mr. Hwang deemed necessary for any media exposure. Please refer to file T &C for further explanation. Mr. Hwang and I are ready to welcome you to HMH Workshop this Sunday._

_Warm Regards,_

_Choi Minki_  
_Head Secretary of HMH_  
_Personal Assistant to Mr. Hwang Minhyun_

Yoojung has it printed on expensive matte paper and all—she was smirking when he’s done reading it.  
“I didn’t know you’re going to cover the Hwang Minhyun story, Sir,” she says.  
“I didn’t know up until this Monday, too,” he sighs, hands still sorting the printed polaroids he deem fit for tomorrow’s shoot lookbook.  
“Does this mean you’re going to stay there?” Yoojung asks excitedly.  
Seongwu raises his eyebrows. “Care to tell me why you’re so excited, Yoojung?”

Yoojung sighs. “I was an intern in Vogue too, don’t you remember? We tried to cover his success story and asked him for a 10-page editorial for his brand, but he just refused without any explanations whatsoever. He just said he doesn’t really want to give too much exposure on himself,” she shrugs.  
“That’s… normal in the industry. Some designers try to keep some of their secrets, no big deal about it,” Seongwu fixes his glasses nonchalantly.  
Yoojung sighs again. “With all due respect, Sir, you’re just so dense,” she continues exasperatedly, putting down the papers Seongwu asked her to cut.  
“He’s like, Park Bogum, or… or, Lee Dongwook handsome, you know? Everyone’s dying to know him and now Ms. Im is giving you an opportunity of a lifetime to be close to him. Of course, as your loyal intern and a cheerleader for your non-existent love life I’m excited!”  
“If I were you, I wouldn’t be that excited to be Eunki’s intern for a week,”  
Seongwu counters, eyes trained on the lookbook in front of him. Yoojung grumbles beside him.  
“It’s not gonna be too bad, Sir—at least Mr. Hong has a steady relationship and good eyes for handsome, talented men,”

⚘✾⚘

Seongwu’s career in fashion journalism is more or less an extension of the last year of his Korean literature undergrad, where he stumbled and fumbled for a footing—only decorated with numerous hours of internship, time consuming job interviews, and too many awkward yet prestigious fashion workshops.

Back when he entered the gates of Seoul National University he didn’t know he’d end up in a high-end fashion magazine and not _Chosun Ilbo_ , and the only fashionable piece of clothing he had was the shirt from Rag & Bone’s old collection his sister sent from New York for his birthday.

Writing an descriptive, beautifully crafted article didn’t need a qualification back in university. He only needed bottles of cheap soju, a slightly fuzzy head and a certain object of attention. He formed a temporary, fleeting relationship multiple times from the arrangement—one of it ended up being an actual, year-long relationship. It was easily one of the top 10 mistakes he made.

It was never that serious between him and Daniel, a relationship that literally stemmed from mid-thesis and post-exam sex, but agreeing that they were disastrous together romantically was still difficult. Nevertheless, he still talks to Daniel daily.

He made a promise to go with Daniel to his favorite restaurant in his hometown one day around four years ago, and although this is only Seongwu trying to tweak a promise, Daniel readily agreed when he asked.

They agreed to meet in the train station at nine, and when Seongwu arrives Daniel is already perched in the coffee shop’s high stool. Daniel is beautiful as always, soft edges and hard lines at all the right places. Daniel smiles cheekily, offering him his favorite cup of coffee. This is why he fell in love with Kang Daniel—

“Your phone’s ringing,” Seongwu sighs, checking out the hundreds of KaTalk messages in Daniel’s screen, mostly questions in varying degrees of ‘ _where are you_ s’ and ‘ _are you ignoring me_ s’.  
And this is why he fell _out_. Daniel is a chaos, a tornado ready to come and ruin in 10 seconds and Seongwu’s obsessive-complusive head just can’t wrap around his way of thinking sometimes. They’re too chaotic together; a perfectionist hardass that binds too tight and a loose screw that can’t be detained—a technical conclusion kindly offered by Yoon Jisung, Daniel’s roommate back in college.

“Relax, hyung, I turned down everyone that could ruin our lovely evening together,” the blonde man wiggles his eyebrows. This was why it was so easy to be with Daniel—those sweet words and sugary smiles. It’s almost like a routine for them, almost like a script that they play every time they hang out for the sake of nostalgia.

He never intended to form a risky, fleeting relationship with the younger. Seongwu knows better to get attached—especially with a man so enigmatic. Daniel found him first, all sunshine-kissed skin and tattered jeans, standing in his doorway, offering a box of homemade kimchi his Jisung-hyung made. “Housewarming gift,” the younger said.  
“I should be the one giving a housewarming gift,” Seongwu shrugged back then.  
“We had only moved here two weeks before you came and your flat was empty before. Let’s just say this gift is for both of us and you’re going to invite me in to eat this together, Neighbor,”  
Seongwu didn’t really understand Daniel’s logic back then, but he agreed anyways.

Daniel would never say it, but Seongwu understood that what Daniel needed was a muse. A muse that doesn’t come from the warped, almost blinding environment that is the famous performing arts college across their building. Seongwu forgot that being a muse comes with a price he didn’t really want to pay. It wasn’t exactly Daniel’s fault—but Seongwu cares too deeply, and he ended up loving a part of Daniel that no one, not even Daniel himself ever managed to understand. Maybe it could’ve worked, if Seongwu wholeheartedly accepts from the beginning that Daniel could love people only as much as he loves his arts, never too profoundly, never too deeply, never enough.

A year of a rollercoaster of emotional intensity, mid-20s crisis, and series of kinky sex Seongwu wishes to forget, and Seongwu concludes that Daniel is both the worst and best part of his ‘explorative youth’, but no, never again. He still loves Daniel, though, and no matter what happened they’re still best friends.

Daniel animatedly talks about his cats when the train moves, legs sprawled comfortably. Seongwu smiles. This part of Daniel used to be so endearing for him, but now it’s just a proof that Daniel’s someone that no one can fully understand.  
“I still don’t understand why you decided to go to Busan just for an article. You hated going to _London_ , out of all places, and you told me it was fully paid,” Daniel comments, slurping a box of banana milk.  
“I honestly don’t understand either, but to be honest—it’s between this or handling a myriad of interns’ antics in the office, so, yeah, here I am,” Seongwu explains. It’s not that far from the truth, although Yoojung has been a huge help this month. His matte iPhone suddenly rings, showing an unknown number.

“Hello?” Seongwu greets. A breath, a shrill scream of _‘Hwang Minhyun, you’re truly dead!’_ , and a chirpy voice greets Seongwu back. “Hello, umm, sorry for that. This is Choi Minki calling from Hwang Minhyun’s phone. Is this Mister, uh, Hong Seongwu?”  
“It’s Ong Seongwu, Mr. Choi, yes, how can I help you?”  
“Ah, it is nothing, I’m just confirming your arrival. Are you still going to drive here yourself or do you need to be picked up from the station? Last night I said Mr. Hwang needs to do an important errand at 1 and I asked you to come at 4, but it has been cancelled and you can come as soon as you arrive. As an apology I will pick you up myself if you wish,”  
Seongwu takes a peek at Daniel, who’s currently doing a poor job in eavesdropping. Daniel smiles at him. ‘It’s okay,’ he mouths.  
“Ah, umm, well, thank you, Mr. Choi, but I think I’m still going to drive there myself,”  
Minki answers immediately. “Alright, then, I’ll see you later, Mr. Ong, thank you for your understanding,”  
Daniel pouts at him, a habit that Seongwu both hated and adored. “It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to come a bit later just to grab lunch with me,”  
Seongwu grins. “You’re being too confident, Daniel-ah,” he steals the only box of banana milk left on the train seat’s small drink compartment. “I only do it for the food,”

Daniel pouts even harder, if that’s even possible. “Whatever, I know you love me,”  
Daniel watches him change the unknown number to ‘Hwang Minhyun’.  
“Wait, the designer you’re interviewing is Hwang Minhyun?”  
Seongwu raises his eyebrow. “You know him?” The only designer Daniel knows is Gosha Rubchinskiy, and that’s only because Song Mino wears it a lot.  
“He was… a neighboorhood hyung I knew back in middle school. He went to Paris for some kind of design school, right?”  
“Right… so you actually know him personally?”  
Daniel absentmindedly draws a pattern on his exposed knee. “Not really, I just knew him because he was somewhat popular for being handsome back then,” Daniel suddenly laughs. “Wait, he’s also my senior’s ex-boyfriend,”  
“What?” Seongwu furrows his eyebrows. He did a very thorough check (in Naver and that very small niche of fashion gossip blogs in Pann, obviously) and there was no mention of a relationship, and definitely no ex at all.  
“I forced you to watch Hit the Stage, right? You know the guy who choreographed that NCT member’s dance? The Kim Jonghyun?”  
“Yeah?”  
“He was my senior, and he was also my mentor back in my last year, so I can say he’s a close hyung? Well, yeah, he used to date this Hwang Minhyun. After he appeared in TV he bought all his mentees drink and he told us he just broke up,”

Daniel tells him more about this particular Kim Jonghyun during their lunch. How Kim Jonghyun is a sharp dancer and a really, really kind person. When Daniel shows him his picture, Seongwu can easily imagine them together.  
“No, he didn’t tell us why they broke up—he was too guarded for that, I guess,” Daniel answers when Seongwu prods him more about Jonghyun’s relationship.  
“But I don’t know, maybe they’re back together now, hyung,” Daniel sips his tea. “I mean, he’s a famous choreographer now, and Minhyun-ssi is now a top designer—I think no one wants to be the second or third Hong Seok-chon these days,”

Seongwu steps down from Daniel’s car after five minutes of bickering and laughing. Daniel waves goodbye excitedly and Seongwu smiles. In another lifetime Seongwu would easily love him back—but in this complicated universe, with his current state of mental health, it’s just impossible for him to try to love someone who doesn’t really know how to love.

⚘✾⚘

The workshop is just a medium-sized house on top of a small hill, slightly secluded from its surroundings. The bell is situated beside the simple black brass gate, almost hidden. Seongwu nervously presses the bell, slightly wondering if the brass gate is automated. The gate covers a short driveway that’s shaded by trees on the sides. After a minute, a brown-haired man comes running from the main glass doors. The man wears a simple white Gucci logo tee and a neat, emerald-colored light blazer that Seongwu safely assumes is one of HMH’s F/W pieces last season.  
“You must be Mr. Ong Seongwu,” the beautiful man greets. He extends his hand, a smile etched on his lips. “I’m Choi Minki, Minhyun’s assistant,” the grip’s not very firm, but it’s strangely friendly and comforting for Seongwu.

  
“I heard you’re the same age as Minhyun and I, am I correct?” Minki says during their short walk inside. Seongwu grunts a bit when he struggles to balance his camera bag, his briefcase and his small luggage on his arms. Minki chuckles, quickly taking the camera bag. “That’s right, Minki-ssi,”  
“Ah, then please just call me Minki—the formality and everything is just there for the sake of keeping Minhyun’s auditors civil,” Minki offers, opening the doors.

“Also, I’ll give you my number so you can contact me faster,”

“That’s… generous of you, thanks, Minki,” Seongwu takes in his surrounding. The house must be reconstructed from a _hanok_ , he thinks. The main doors lead into a rather spacious main hall, decorated by rich-colored furnitures and accentuated by the color peridot cleverly splashed on some items. The pagoda roof outside covers a warm-looking terrace, leading to a lively, currently empty stone-floored courtyard.

  
Minki chuckles. “Pretentious, I know,” he points an olive-green glass vase near the window leading to the courtyard. “Peridot’s Minhyun’s birthstone, so he feels it’s somewhat appropriate to stash that everywhere,”  
“Your room’s on the left, first door,” Minki kindly explains, tucking his camera bag on his arms and leading him down the hallway. The room’s not really big, and designed exactly for a guest room, almost sterile-looking.

  
“Minhyun doesn’t live here, if you’re wondering,” Minki sets Seongwu’s luggage on the floor. “Minhyun and I are from Busan, so we’re usually only here for work and we go to our families’ houses at night. But he’s going to sleep next door during your stay,”  
Seongwu sits on the bed, taking off his jacket. “Where do you guys work?”  
“Minhyun works from his room next door,” Minki walks outside, looking at the courtyard. “And we usually do the dye there,”

“Dye?” Seongwu is confused. He doesn’t read any mentions of dye and painting anywhere on the email. “Yeah? Aren’t you informed that every _shibori_ prints are done manually?”  
Seongwu gapes. “Wait, do you mean, ‘Blue’ refers to _shibori_ ink?”  
Minki laughs. “I can’t believe this,” he pulls out his phone (jet black with Lady Gaga case), “It’s like, three weeks before the show and he didn’t even tell W Korea we’re doing some _shibori_ revolution or something? Aron-hyung is going to be so mad,” he mumbles.  
“Unfortunately, I can’t really disclose anything other than this is his secondary brand. New vision, new target market, and everything. So it’s nothing like the sophisticated and elegant HMH. It’s more… youthful, I guess,” Minki moves his hands animatedly.

“Before I forget, have you brought the papers I asked you to sign?”  
Seongwu grabs his briefcase, pulling out a folder. “Here you go,”  
Minki skims over the papers, reading his resume rather slowly. “I’m sorry if all of these… requirements are annoying for you,” Minki chuckles, “it’s just… I think the collection is rather personal for him, so I took extra precautions. Also, please send me the final draft before you publish the article,”  
“It’s fine, I think what you’ve done is just a standard procedure. And yes, I will,” Seongwu plays with the hem of his shirt. “Is there… anything I cannot ask him?”

  
Minki looks back at him, brown eyes glinting. “Is there any specific personal aspect you want to ask?”  
“Well…” Seongwu scratches his neck. Minki’s so observant and straightforward it hurts.  
Minki laughs. “I’m just kidding, you can ask him anything. He’s not going to be mad, but just… please consider his feeling. He’s a bit lonely these days,”  
Before Seongwu’s able to ask what he meant, Minki’s phone rings.  
“Well, Minhyun’s coming now, so you can definitely ask him everything later,”

A sound of a car comes from the driveway after that, and Seongwu screams internally. It’s been months since he’s done face-to-face interview, having Yoojung handling most of it these few months. It’s not helping that Hwang Minhyun never does any actual interview—he has no idea how well will this go.  
“Oh, how rude of me. Do you want some drinks, Seongwu?” Minki walks to the right side of the hall. “Come with me, I told him we’re waiting in the kitchen,”  
“Just water is alright,” Seongwu says. He’s not in the mood for some wine and dine. “Water it is,” Minki pulls a white ceramic mug. The kitchen is as pristine as everything else in the house. “There isn’t anything in the kitchen either, the juice’s expired and Minhyun doesn’t drink coffee so I didn't store any. Sorry for that, Seongwu,”  
“That’s alright,” his mind stores the information carefully. _Sterile-looking house, doesn’t drink coffee sounds great with clean lines and carefully threaded tweeds_ , his mind supplies.

Hwang Minhyun enters the kitchen with a small bag in tow. Seongwu quickly stands from the bar stool, bowing politely. “Good morning Mr. Hwang, I’m Ong Seongwu from W Korea,”  
He looks up at the sound of footsteps, nerves surging back like never before. The corners of the man’s lips pull up slightly, assessing him, but with a hint of something like warmth. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Ong,”  
The raven-haired man crosses the room, extending his hand. “I hope Minki welcomes you well,” the man remarks, eyeing the mug on the counter.  
“Minki has shown me my room and some small introduction about your project,” Seongwu confirms. Minki rolls his eyes. “Quit it, Hwang, this isn’t technically our office so I’m just here as your friend and not your PA,”

The man lets out a pleasant laugh, eye crinkling. “Sorry about that, Mr. Ong, Minki and I don’t really use formalities here,”  
“It’s alright, Sir,”  
Minhyun walks back to the main hall, taking off his denim coat. He rolls up the sleeves of his white mandarin-collared shirt, showing clear, white skin. Seongwu can understand his appeal, can understand why women (and men) swoon over this man in front of him. He looks warm yet unapproachable, good-looking to the point that Seongwu has to admit to himself that it’s contributing to his nerves a bit. From his build, Seongwu bets he’s extremely popular in campus setting—Minhyun _was_ a guest lecturer in two universities.

Seongwu doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but he believes in attraction at first sight. It’s too hard to deny that Seongwu’s drawn to him, even before meeting him in person. From reading his only interview (in  _Seoul Times,_ out of all places), Seongwu knows Hwang Minhyun is a kind, thoughtful person.

“I’ve never done this before, you know,” Minhyun walks to the counter, ignoring Minki who’s currently taking out groceries from the paper bags.  
Minhyun takes an apple and washes it. “I mean, I don’t really know how almost a week long close-ups work. Aron-hyung, uh, that’s my publicist, he’s the one who had a deal with Nana-noona, so I’m basically just going to follow your lead,”  
“Basically, Minhyun’s too mysterious and Aron-hyung wants to change that,” Minki quips from his place, busy stuffing fruits into the fridge.

But today he’s here as Ong Seongwu, senior editor, and not Ong Seongwu, 27-year old single man, so he inhales.  
“Firstly, I’d like to know better about this new brand, Sir,” Seongwu proposes, staring straight at the man standing behind the kitchen counter.  
Minhyun bites the apple, and then smiles. “That’s a good start, I think,”  
“Minki, is it okay if we leave you?” Minhyun asks. Minki rolls his eyes again. “When I’m done I’m going to go home anyways, shoo,”  
Minhyun chuckles, putting down the half-eaten apple on a plate.

“You can follow me,” Minhyun walks back to the main hall, crossing it slowly. He passes Seongwu’s designated room and finally stops at the door next to it. “Ah, this house used to be my grandparents’,” the lock clicks when Minhyun turns the key. “My grandmother asked me to reconstruct it back then and after she passed away, I didn't really want to sell it so I decided to use it as my workshop. The final renovation for the workshop is done last year,”  
Seongwu hums, pulling out his small notepad. “So the idea for this new brand has only popped up last year?”

The room is bigger than his, with high ceiling and reddish orange-colored pillars. The walls are pure white and Seongwu’s pretty sure this is the only part of the house that still uses wooden floor. The room is almost like a gallery instead of a designer’s office—with clothed mannequins standing in a row, rolls of blank fabrics hung on the wall, neatly stacked. There’s a huge desk in the middle of the room, two office chairs, and a white sofa. Two adjustable steel racks are splayed near the door, full with clothes.

“I don’t think so,” Minhyun hums, turning on the lights. The room looks even more pristine with the lights on, its pure color scheme standing out.

“You don’t think so,” Seongwu repeats, half as a question. Minhyun walks to the table, eyes roaming around the room. The short silence is almost comfortable. It almost feels like a chance to breathe.  
“Yeah, I think I’ve always wanted to make a secondary brand with a different target market,” the designer carefully explains, sitting on one of the chairs. He opens the white book in the middle of the table. “I plan everything about this collection here,” he points.

“Wait,” Seongwu exhales, sitting on the sofa across the designer. “Uh, sorry, I think we should just restart,” a click to his recorder.  
Minhyun lifts his left eyebrow, a lopsided grin blooms on his lips. “Alright, let’s start, shall we?” Minhyun relaxes his legs, arms crossing in front of his chest.  
“I think I’m going for general questions today,” Seongwu takes out his pen. “Can you please explain more about this project in general first?”

“Blue by Hwang Minhyun is the name of this project. Why blue? It’s rather simple, I guess. This collection mostly uses natural indigo blue dye, and it incorporates _shibori_ —ah, umm… resist-dyeing techniques. Blue also means ‘blue’ literally, as in the feeling of melancholy,”

Seongwu hums. “Feeling of melancholy?”  
Minhyun swallows, and it’s several seconds before he says anything again. “Yes. I’d like to say that this collection also displays the feeling of a youth, growing up into an adult,” the designer taps his fingers on his jeans, seemingly thinking about something far away. “personally, I feel like this collection represents my youth and my struggles—and the color I associate with it is blue,”

Seongwu blinks. “I think I understand what you mean,” he whispers. Seongwu clears his suddenly dry throat. “How is this line different with your main line, in terms of designs and such?”

“It has more personal touch, I guess—every _shibori_ prints are made manually, from the stitching, the resist-dyeing, and the final sewing. Each item has limited numbers—there are around 40 items in this collection, and the numbers are 809 in total,”  
“Do you plan to only release it exclusively once or is this going to be a regular collection? I think a lot of your loyal clients would be sad to know that it’s going to be a war trying to get the pieces,”  
“I haven’t really thought about it, to be honest,” Minhyun suddenly laughs. “It has been an ongoing project for so long, I haven’t really thought about what I’d do after I release it,”  
Seongwu smiles. The designer looks younger like this—not that he doesn’t look young, but there’s youth and carefreeness dripping from his eyes when he talks about his collection.  
“I’m going to ask you an easy question,” he flips his notebook to get a blank paper. “Which one is your favorite piece?” He points to the racks.  
Minhyun laughs. “That’s a very hard question, I like them all equally,”  
“Let me put it this way,” the designer stands and quickly waves his hand to the racks. “Pick the one that you like and I’ll explain the piece to you,”

Seongwu laughs, standing slowly. “You surely aren’t very good at interviews,” he jokingly remarks. The designer peeks at him, glaring at him in something similar to playfulness. “Come on,” the raven-haired man almost grumbles.  
“This one,” Seongwu pulls an oversized shirt. The shirt is made from very soft cotton, and Seongwu’s fingers smoothly glide against it. One side of it is colored in intricate blue chevron pattern, with a black denim tag hanging from the smartly hidden pocket. One side of it is purely white, with barely-there white embroidery mirroring the colored chevron pattern next to it scattered on the chest and shoulder.  
“This part is colored with _arashi_ technique—I’ll talk about the techniques later, but simply, the color is made by wrapping the fabric diagonally on a pole and submerging it in dye,” Minhyun hums, and Seongwu wonders if there’s a switch inside his head—the awkward, thoughtful man and the confident, passionate designer. “ _Arashi_ means storm, and if you want to put some meaning into it, this part means storm,” he touches the running chevrons, “and this part means the moments long after the storm, where whenever you’re spacing out you still can remember the taste of the storm, how it hurts you,” he touches the textures on the embroidery.  
“I think this piece is pretty meaningful that way—everyone has to deal with a storm once in a while, and even though you overcame it, there are still remains of it inside your head,”

Minhyun smiles. “It’s pretty relatable for everyone, I guess,” Minhyun suddenly turns at him, eyes slightly dilating. “Isn’t it?”

Seongwu smiles back, and he hopes it’s reassuring enough. “It is,”

⚘✾⚘

Someone knocks at his door exactly at 8. “Mr. Ong, it’s me,”  
Seongwu quickly wears his woolen cardigan, rushing to open the door. Minhyun stands in front of him, only in a black t-shirt and tattered designer jeans. He also wears an apron, and that’s a surprising sight for Seongwu.  
“I cooked some dinner, I’m sorry for interrupting your work,” Minhyun eyes the laptop on his bed.  
“No, it’s alright, I’d love to eat dinner. I should be sorry for not helping you cook. Is there anything I can do?”  
Minhyun bites his lips. “I’m almost done, but you can set the table while I plate?”

So the evening went like this: Minhyun plates some _galbijjim_ on ceramic plates, and Seongwu sets the table, colored napkins and everything. The scene is unfamiliar, bordering on domestic for Seongwu, but Minhyun’s melodious humming makes it so normal somehow.  
“This is my mother’s recipe, I hope I didn’t screw it up,” Minhyun awkwardly explains. Seongwu doesn’t have the heart to say that he doesn’t mind—the best food he ate this week was the Aori Ramen his department head bought for him in a business meeting.

“Is it okay if I ask you things while we’re eating?” Seongwu asks suddenly. He drinks the green tea Minhyun poured for him. “Sure, go ahead,”  
“Why _shibori_? I’m sorry if I sound rude, but even Levi’s has done this. It’s not exactly the most creative thing you can come up with, especially when you’re known as one of the most versatile and inventive young designers out there,”

Minhyun’s expression is blank for so long, spoon abandoned on the table. He lifts an eyebrow like Seongwu somehow offended him, but it’s gone in a blink. “No, it’s not rude at all. I know it can be seen that way, _shibori_ ’s not exactly new, even in Korea,” Minhyun leans back on his chair. “But I think I don’t care? Most concepts are overused and I really didn’t see things that way, to be honest—I just thought,” he suddenly stops. “I’m sorry, I tend to ramble, that’s why I usually avoided long interviews,”

Minhyun’s shoulders are somewhat tense. “This is going to make this interview very personal,” he shrugs. “I used to live in Japan when I was younger, during high school. There was this thing called ‘ _Amekaji_ ’, basically, American-styled fashion, with denims, white shirts, and leather jackets. My sister really liked that style, so she forced me to come with her whenever she goes to thrift stores to buy secondhand denims,” he chuckles at this. “And the cashier wore a _shibori_ shirt under a trucker jacket. It’s not that important, I know, but I thought that looks really nice, so the next day I went to a few artisans to know more about _shibori_ and fell in love with it. Can you imagine, just a high school kid with messy Japanese asking around about _shibori_?” Seongwu’s chest tugs, Minhyun’s sincerity and fondness for the art flowing in his ears.  
“I think it’s also because _shibori_ has the ‘right way’ to do things, but the wrong way hardly exists,” Seongwu jots down everything Minhyun said in his memory. His heart constricts in a way he doesn’t understand and he finds Minhyun really, really attractive this way—sitting under the dim light, bare-faced and telling him his thoughts and feelings.  
“One artisan back then told me the analogy is a wood-burning kiln. All the technical conditions have been met, but what happens in the kiln may be a miracle or a disaster. Chance and accident also give life to the _shibori_ process, and this contributes to its special magic and strongest appeal,”

“It’s like growing up, is that what you’re trying to say?” Seongwu asks, head slightly tilting. “Chances and accidents—they make who we are,”  
Minhyun smiles widely, almond-shaped eyes softening. “Yes, that’s true,”

When Seongwu washes the dishes, Minhyun stands beside him. “I’ll teach you how to do simple dyeing tomorrow,” he whispers, like a secret promise.

⚘✾⚘

Seongwu is surprised to find Minki in front of his door the next morning.  
“I brought you breakfast,” he says cheerily.  
“Minhyun’s out to walk his sister’s dog, he’s going to be back after 9,” Minki says nonchalantly, putting down the porridge he bought.

When he’s half done eating his breakfast, Minki speaks again. “So, what do you think so far? Do you think 4 days are enough for your close-up?”

“It’s great,” Seongwu answers. “I find Minhyun’s answers refreshing—I think it’s already good enough for 4-pages cover story. It’s clear he isn’t interviewed often, though,” He eats one more scoop of his porridge.  
Minki laughs. “I know, I know, that’s just his thing. That’s why he asked me to be his assistant, I guess. It’s pretty bad for business… he’s not good in making small diplomatic talk, he just talks a lot and doesn’t know how to stress his points,”  
Minki takes a sip of his drink. “Did you ask him personal questions in the end?”  
Seongwu almost chokes out his breakfast. “No, not really. I didn’t find the need to,”

The brown-haired man nods. “Nana-ssi picked a good interviewer, then,” Minki looks at him meaningfully. “People always try to find out his personal life and everything just because he’s young, handsome, and pretty talented. You don’t want to know how many interviews I had to intervene because it was borderline invasive to his privacy,”

“Minki,” Seongwu chews his lips nervously. “You said he’s lonely. What did you mean by that?”  
Minki looks at him intently, and it’s unnerving for Seongwu. After a while, Minki finally makes up his mind. “He just broke up last year. His ex _was, is,_ our best friend, and I don’t really understand what happened too, to be honest. He just told me it’s over, he’s not even sad about it. Just… lonely,” Minki sighs. “It was my idea to start this whole line, firstly because his designs were too… depressing to be on the main line, and secondly to channel his loneliness,”  
The young assistant chuckles quietly. “I suggested him to learn piano, but he sucked at it, so a new line it is,”  
“Is this… ex Kim Jonghyun?”  
Minki raises his eyebrows. “You did your research well,” he remarks plainly.  
“I don’t think I can comment more on this, Seongwu,” Minki admits.

A click and a series of footsteps are heard from outside. The main door opens with a creak. “Minki?” Minhyun calls from the main hall. “Here with Seongwu, Minhyun!”  
Minhyun brings a big plastic bag on his hand. “Ready to paint, Mr. Ong?”

“Yeah,” Seongwu answers, after a moment of words not making their way from his brain to his mouth. Minki winks across him. “I’ll leave you guys alone after this,” he says.

When Seongwu returns to the main hall after changing his clothes, Minhyun seems to be in a heated discussion with Minki in the kitchen. Minki immediately controls his face when he sees him, and an alarm in Seongwu’s head rings.

Minki taps Minhyun’s shoulders and waves Seongwu goodbye, leaving him and the designer alone. Minhyun slowly turns his back, already wearing a plastic apron and gloves. “The indigo dye isn’t so hard to wash off if it’s not oxidized yet, but here you go, we don’t want to stain your shirt, right,” he hands him an apron.

Minhyun walks out to the courtyard, and he already prepared two large buckets filled with dye.  
“I already told you that my collection uses three _shibori_ techniques: _nui_ ,” he points to the threads and needles stashed tidily in a plastic box, “ _arashi_ ,” twin PVC poles lie on the ground, “and _itajime_ ,” he puts down two small wooden rectangular shaped-blocks.  
“I think we’re going to do a simple _arashi_ technique first,” Minhyun says after a moment. “You just have to wrap the fabric diagonally around this pole,” he hands him the long PVC pole, “tighten it with a thread, and then you just dip it inside for some time,”  
“Sounds easy,” Seongwu grins. Minhyun smirks at him. “Let’s see how good you are with dyeing,”  
“Oh, that’s too easy, I’m basically always dying inside,”  
Minhyun squints his eyes at him, unamused.

“What the hell,” Seongwu complains, when the binding he made on the pole popped off inside the dye bucket, completely sinking the linen under the dark-colored dye bath. Minhyun laughs, his eyes crinkled in mirth. “That’s what you get for being cocky,”

Seongwu unconsciously pouts. He feels Minhyun’s eyes on him and shivers, but he doesn’t falter. When Minhyun falls quiet for a tad too long, Seongwu stares back at the designer. The raven-haired man coughs instantly. “Here, let me show you,” he grabs his linen-covered pole with a flourish.  
“You have to make sure the binds are tight enough, and the folds should be even,”  
Minhyun carefully dips the pole, setting it underwater for almost a minute. When he pulls it out, the fabric is fully dyed in bright green. He points to the dye bath. “The color comes out bright green at first, but it will slowly oxidizes to dark indigo blue when it hits the air,”  
“It’s a magical process,” Seongwu comments, looking at his slightly stained fingers that turn blue after awhile. Seongwu finds Minhyun looking back at him with a look that’s close to amusement. “It is,” he agrees.

“I’ll take this off and hang this,” he carefully loosens the binding on his pole, hanging the linen with a pair of clips on the rope crossing the courtyard.  
“Alright, since you clearly sucked on _arashi_ , we’ll try _itajime_ now,” Seongwu pouts. “That’s not very encouraging to say to a beginner,”  
Minhyun laughs. “Nah, you’re actually good enough already,” Minhyun takes the wooden blocks. “ _Arashi_ is pretty tricky to do, I was just messing with you,”  
“Here,” he hands Seongwu a ball of twine. “Just do an accordion fold on the fabric, and then sandwich it with these blocks and twine,”  
Minhyun quickly does it, showing Seongwu the perfect accordion-folded square under a minute. “This technique is pretty common and I use this mostly for the outerwears,” Seongwu duplicates it, slightly messy in the end—but Minhyun smiles brightly. “Don’t worry, you’re better than Minki when he first started,” he grins after that.  
“How many panels of fabric did you make for the collection?” Seongwu asks, dipping his blocks to the bath.  
Minhyun purses his lips. “Around a hundred, I guess? It must be more than that, I think—some pieces use more than two _shibori_ panels,”  
Seongwu gapes. “And you only did it with Minki?”  
Minhyun shrugs. “It was therapeutic,” he exhales. “It was like a hobby at first, I guess? My sister sent me a batch of natural indigo dye when she went to Japan last year, and I just got sucked into it,” he picks up the blocks Seongwu dyed, hanging it beside his _arashi_ panel. “and then the next thing I know, I ended up making a dozen of panels and didn’t know what to do with it,”

“I think you did well,” Minhyun stares at his panel. It’s a bit splotchy, with uneven blues and irregular whites, but it makes Minhyun smile, so Seongwu feels it’s enough. “You see these whites? That’s because you folded it too tightly inside the blocks. The more fabric you let out outside the blocks, the more blues you’d get,”  
“Oh,” Minhyun hands him a blank fabric, and Seongwu’s sure it’s 100% pure cotton. It’s already stitched by numerous simple running stitches, pulled and binded tightly so Seongwu can’t even guess its pattern. “That’s a stitched-resist technique,”  
“It’s really time-consuming but it provides better control on the design,”  
“What’s the pattern for this one?” Seongwu asks, submerging it in the bath. From the corner of his eye, Seongwu watches Minhyun blinks blankly. “Uh,” he coughs. “A constellation of stars,”

There’s a long, aching silence only highlighted by their breathing, the sound of dripping water from the fabrics, and the gust of winds. “Let’s drink tea when you finish hanging the panel,” Minhyun quickly walks back to the house, leaving Seongwu alone and confused.

⚘✾⚘

Seongwu always sees close-up interviews as a give-and-take session. You give enthusiasm and sincerity, and you get truth and trust. Just because he’s a professional that has done this a hundred times, with prominent figures in entertainment, influential fashion people, and even his friends back in university, it doesn’t make it easier. Peeling a piece of yourself and hoping the person you’re questioning peels a piece of themselves back—Seongwu hates the anxiety and uncertainty that comes with finding the truest truth. It’s never easy, and with Minhyun…

For his own sake, Seongwu carries his recorder and notepad to the tea session. Minhyun leans on the glass doors leading to the courtyard. He places two mugs (black and broken white) on the high table next to him.  
“Are we starting another session?” Minhyun lifts the broken white cup. Seongwu nods. “Good, I think I need a dose of caffeine for this one,” Minhyun settles on a comment after a second of silence.

“I heard you did a research on Jonghyun,” Minhyun says calmly, sipping from his broken white cup. If it’s anyone else, it can be seen as an accusation—but Minhyun’s eyes are filled with confusion and slight interest. Seongwu freezes, praying that he doesn’t get kicked out for digging the designer’s dirt. Choi Minki is one dangerous man, and Seongwu learns that the hard way.  
“I was just wondering if this upcoming collection has something to do with love,” he whispers. Seongwu sighs. That doesn’t even sound good outloud. “I mean, people buy that stuff—a collection so personal it’s literally inspired from the designer’s love life,”  
Minhyun chuckles from behind his teacup. “Did you do a research to write a paragraph about my sad love life or to know more about Kim Jonghyun’s dirt? I know a tip to Dispatch makes fortune these days,”  
“I’d never—I signed a confidentiality statement yesterday,” Seongwu rushes to explain.  
“On me,” Minhyun smiles, slightly sadly. “Not on Kim Jonghyun. There’s no reason for me to not assume you’re doing another agenda here,”  
Seongwu exhales. He knows it was stupid and not professional, but he really couldn’t help himself.  
“I apologize, Mr. Hwang. I understand if you wish to change your interviewer or postpone the agreement,” Seongwu bows. This job is everything for him these days, and a mishap this severe would really blow his career.  
When Seongwu stands again Minhyun looks at him, almost like he’s proding into his mind. “No, I mean… you can just ask, honestly,”  
“Uh, I don’t think I understand what you mean,” Seongwu asks after an agonizing stillness.  
Minhyun swiftly pouts, a habit that Seongwu finds a bit childish coming from one of Korea’s brightest 30 under 30s. “You can just ask me who is Kim Jonghyun for me and I think I’ll gladly answer it,”

Minhyun suddenly hums. “Let’s just restart,”  
“You can ask me now,” the raven-haired man says. Seongwu blinks once, twice.  
“Uh,”  
Minhyun beams. “I really mean it. Ask away,”  
“Um, well. Who is... Kim Jonghyun and what is his role in this collection?”  
“Kim Jonghyun was—no, is, the best person that I’ve ever had a chance to be with. And well, I already said this collection is all about personal realization and growth,” Minhyun lifts the corner of his lips, seemingly thinking about a dear memory. “So I guess you can say he plays a very big part,”  
Seongwu holds his recorder tighter, trying to stop his mind from thinking too much. A click to the stop button, and he exhales.  
“If he really was the best person, why didn’t it last?” slips out from his mouth, a tad too late.  
Minhyun laughs, a quiet, mellow laugh that leaves Seongwu’s heart pricked. “You really always ask the most interesting questions,” With a kick to a loose pebble outside the glass door, he answers, “Because he doesn’t hurt me,”  
Seongwu fiddles with the frayed seams of his denim jacket. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Minhyun puts down his ceramic cup, pulling his creme turtleneck closer to his chin. “Minki once said I’m just a fucker who romanticizes everything and doesn’t have regards to human’s feelings. Maybe that’s true. That’s… correct, in a way. I thought love should be a punch in the gut, a throbbing in your head that doesn’t go away. Not feeling like things are going a tad too well. Falling in love with the person that grew up with you, that understands you, and even understands that you’re not really _in_ love with him, but just find the concept of loving him lovable.”

Minhyun sighs. “I was rambling again, wasn’t I?” His eyes are at Seongwu’s level now, carefully threading every emotions that flash through Seongwu’s orbs.  
“No, no, please continue,” Seongwu answers, hands on his teacup. He closes his eyes, trying to shut every emotions that appear in Minhyun’s every syllable. He doesn’t even know Jonghyun, but he can imagine Minhyun, looking at Jonghyun in rose-tinted glasses, living to a comfortable bubble that sounds like love, but not really.  
“There’s nothing to continue, really. I’m just a cruel romantic who doesn’t really understand love, and apparently, that suits my public image and branding. No further story behind it, Mr. Ong,”  
“Seongwu,” he whispers back, looking down at the green concoction in his cup.  
“Sorry?”  
“It’s my second day here. I think to get to know you better, you should call me Seongwu, so in turn I can call you Minhyun,” he lamely explains.  
Minhyun laughs. “Sure,” he takes Seongwu’s empty cup and walks to his office. “Seongwu,”

⚘✾⚘

“What do you plan for tomorrow?” Minhyun asks during dinner (they had cheesy chicken delivered). Seongwu gulps his drink.  
“I think I’m going to take more pictures of your collection... Not that what I have is not enough, I just need more emphasis on the details. You put great attention to every piece, I want people to appreciate it,”

Maybe it’s just the cider, but Seongwu sees a tint of rose pink on Minhyun’s cheeks, and Minhyun didn’t even drink. “Thank you,” Seongwu tries to not be obvious about the tensions melting off his shoulders. He’s never good with compliments.

“Can I ask you something, though?” Minhyun puts down his chopsticks.  
Seongwu inhales, hoping he won’t regret this. “Of course, Minhyun,”  
“What do you think about my collection? I mean, personally?” He does regret this.

Minhyun’s voice is slightly raw and the tensions are rolling back to his shoulders—so he opts for the easy answer. “I think you’ll know when I release the articles,”  
Minhyun’s lips form a smile that’s a bit far from _happy_ and Seongwu’s heart drops.  
“Ah, I see,”

Minhyun picks up his empty plate and balls the chicken paper boxes, throwing it to the trash bin. “But,” Seongwu bits his lips. “If you want a little preview,”

Minhyun turns back to look at him. He seems to be a little caught off-guard, pupils dilating.  
“I think it’s very… fitting for the theme of coming-of-age,” Seongwu unconsciously smiles, remembering the storm lines, the delicate blooming blue flowers, warm, padded indigo denims. “It’s sincere, detailed, and warm, but I can see that the warmth comes from… uh, an ignited fire? You fought the storm, the cold with your fire. So, I think, it’s really like life, the life of a young adult trying to be an adult with all its ups and downs. You did great in conveying that, I believe,”

Minhyun puts down his plate in the sink, crossing his arms. Minhyun looks at him (tenderly?) and Seongwu watches as his face turns serene. “You’re a great journalist, Seongwu,” an unrestricted smile, “thank you, you think very highly of me,”

⚘✾⚘

“Have you ever been to Busan before?” Minhyun asks when Seongwu’s busy washing the dishes.  
“Twice for work. But for anything else, this is actually my first time,” Seongwu admits, putting down the last chopstick to dry. Minhyun hums. “Ah, so you’ve never tried the cable car?”  
Seongwu raises his eyebrow. “Is it great?”

Minhyun looks at the clock on the wall. “I don’t know, I’ve never gone there either. I wanted to ride it but Minki’s no fun,” Minhyun suddenly extends his arms. “You drank, so I drive,” he says, like it’s the most logical thing he’s ever said. Seongwu laughs. Just like this, he feels another wall is torn down between them (and he doesn’t really want to know the repercussion).  
“Come on,” it almost sounds like a whine and it’s almost amusing to Seongwu. “It’s only 9 PM, they’re open until 11,”  
Seongwu walks out from the dining room. “Only if you pay, Minhyunnie!” He screams without turning back.

It’s a short drive from Minhyun’s workshop even though Minhyun drives too slowly for Seongwu’s liking (‘uh, I haven’t drove for a while’). And it’s a good experience, Seongwu thinks. Minhyun hums and belts Seongwu’s favorite songs (‘I really like _Galaxy_ ,’), and Seongwu honestly thinks Minhyun’s singing is something to write home about.

Busan Air Cruise is almost empty when they arrive. The cashier is a friendly old man that looks really happy to see them, and it makes Minhyun smile, so Seongwu smiles too. Busan is pretty like this, seen from far above, decorated by stars and black waves dancing in a silent rhythm.

When the cable car almost reaches the middle of the ride, Seongwu notices that Minhyun stands rigid beside him, eyes slightly shut. Seongwu inches closer, poking his arm. “What’s wrong?”  
“I had… this bad experience with Viking, you know, that thing in Everland, when I was little. I didn’t really… think,” a sigh, “when I proposed this,”  
Seongwu giggles. “You mean, you’re _teeny-tiny_ bit afraid?”  
Minhyun opens his right eye, half-glaring with one eye. “Shut up,” he says half-heartedly. Maybe it’s impulse, maybe it’s the gnawing feeling in his chest—Seongwu puts down his arms on Minhyun’s shoulders. “Hey,” he whispers, inching closer to the man beside him.  
“It’s alright,” his grip squeezes Minhyun’s shoulders lightly. With Minhyun shrinking in like this, they’re eye-to-eye now. Minhyun opens his eyes slowly.  
Seongwu’s lips inch closer to Minhyun’s ear. “If we take the Crystal Clear car, it’d be scarier—come on, just imagine you’re on a train and not moving across the sea with only a flimsy cable and a small compartment,” he jokes. Minhyun’s finger stabs his chest, and Seongwu cackles.  
“Come on, Minhyun, it’s not that scary,”  
Minhyun sighs, his hair falling softly. The faint smell of peach from Minhyun’s hair trickles Seongwu’s nose and Seongwu has to manually shut down his sense of smell—his poor heart is not ready for this, not like this.  
When Minhyun opens his eyes fully, they’re standing so close—too close. Like this, Seongwu is able to see Minhyun’s almond-shaped brown orbs, his rosy pink lips and a trail of moles dancing on his neck. He swallows, and he feels—no, he _knows_ Minhyun follows the rise of his adam’s apple.

He pretends it’s anything other than anxiety that makes him take one step back. “It’s almost over, you big baby,”  
Minhyun’s eyes are undecipherable. “Yeah,” a chuckle, “yeah, let’s just… go home,”

On the last step before he opens the workshop’s main door, Minhyun grabs his wrist. “Seongwu?”  
Seongwu turns back, feeling the all-too-familiar fire ignites on his chest. “Thank you,” Minhyun whispers, sincere.  
What Seongwu wants to say is, _All for you._

Instead, he just grins. “You’re welcome,”

⚘✾⚘

“Where did she come from?” Seongwu points to the black dachshund rolling on the floor the next morning.  
Minhyun grins sheepishly. “Ah, it’s my older sister’s,” he softly tugs the leash and the dog stops rolling, eyes peering curiously to the new human in front of her. “Her name’s Mel, and my sister dropped her here this morning when you were still sleeping,” Minhyun explains. Seongwu crouches down, putting up his hand for the dog to high-five. The dog high-fives him, eyes growing big.  
“She likes you,” Minhyun comments.

“Uh, listen, I told you we’re going to drive to get toast this morning, but we can… walk there instead? Mel’s gonna be happy,”  
Minhyun trains his eyes on the ground, and the word that pops up in Seongwu’s head is adorable. “I know you wanted to work this morning, but we… can… play with the dog until my sister’s boyfriend comes to pick her?”  
Maybe if Minhyun was just a client, just an interviewee, just a part of his mundane work, Seongwu would easily say no.  
“Sure,” Seongwu takes his denim jacket. “Let’s go?”

 _Sinchang Toast_ is written in red on the glass door of the small shop. Some ahjummas cooed at Mel when they reached the shop, and a little girl cutely comes over and asks the dog’s breed to Seongwu later. The girl confusedly scrunches her eyebrows when Seongwu asks her if she wants to be a vet in the future. “What’s a… vet, Mister?” the girl asks, unsure. Her mother laughs and she thanks Seongwu for introducing a new occupation to her daughter.  
When the girl and the mother get inside the shop, Minhyun walks out from the store with a paper bag.

“It’s pretty famous and it’s very crowded during breakfast, so I deliberately asked you to come with me earlier,”  
Minhyun hands him a cup of juice and a freshly cooked, tasty-looking golden toast. Mel sits quietly beside him, and Minhyun takes the leash from his hands. “Sorry for making you wait outside with Mel,” Minhyun says timidly.  
Seongwu shakes his head. “No, it’s fine, you bought me these yummy things so we’re even,”

“This is _so_ good,” Seongwu moans when they sit on the workshop’s entrance staircase. “Is it… really that good?” Minhyun stops eating beside him, looking amused. He points to Seongwu’s jaw. “You have sauce everywhere, you _big baby_ ,”

Seongwu playfully glares. “Hey!”  
“Big babies don’t say names to each other,” Seongwu grumbles.  
Minhyun laughs, unhindered and carefree. “So that means you’re admitting that you’re my baby?” Minhyun walks down to give Mel her toy, asking it oh-so-nonchalantly.  
Minhyun’s neck is beet red when he goes back to the stairs, sitting five inches further from his original position. “Ah, I mean, you’re admitting you’re a baby too,” Minhyun’s eye twitches.

There’s a lump in his throat when Seongwu swallows, but he decides to himself that it’s nothing—it’s nothing, Minhyun’s tongue just _slipped_. Seongwu nods rigidly. When Minhyun grins at him, shy and unsure, Seongwu feels something in his heart grows roots, spreading warmth through his veins.

It’s only when he closes the glass doors that he fully realizes what the pounding, electric feeling in his heart is trying to say.

⚘✾⚘

He saw Kwak Aron a few times before, in parties after fashion shows and a few events held by Condé Nast. Seongwu is pretty good in remembering faces, especially face from one of the most prominent, fresh fashion publicists. His jaw almost drops when Aron walks into the house.  
“You’re… Minhyun’s sister’s boyfriend?” Seongwu rushed to open the door when Minhyun asked him to—the designer’s busy carrying and folding their dyed linens.  
“Ah! You must be Mr. Ong from W Korea, right?” Aron extends his hands.  
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to welcome you, I was in LA these past few days,” he explains.

Aron points to dog in Seongwu’s embrace. “And also, yes, I am Sujin’s boyfriend and I’m here to pick up Mel?” He smiles, and Seongwu easily decides he likes the publicist already. He hands him the dog, and the dog instantly yelps in happiness at the sight of his owner.  
“I’m going to go after this, I need to stop by Minhyun’s house. Um, is Minhyun out?” Aron asks.  
“No, he’s in the courtyard dealing with fabrics, I think. I can get him if you want?” Seongwu offers. Aron shakes his head, grinning. “Ah, it’s okay, I’m just here to deliver these show invitations for him to overlook personally,” the publicist hands him a large paper bag filled with light blue envelopes.  
“He wants this show to be only for people that are personally special for him, so here I am doing Minki’s job because he decided to be drunk and slack off last night,” Aron explains, rolling his eyes.  
“Oh, there’s one for W Korea, too, please deliver it to your editor-in-chief, yeah? Please tell Ms. Im I said hi,” Aron adds.

“Will do,”  
With a shout of ' _Minhyun-ah, THANK YOU!'_ , Aron leaves the workshop with his white BMW.  
Seongwu walks to Minhyun’s office, knocking before he enters. Minhyun scrambles to tidy up something when he walks in, a strange sight since the designer never seemed to be surprised. “Aron-ssi told me to give these to you,” Seongwu drops the bag on the glass table. Minhyun walks to the corner desk with his back facing him. “Ah, thank you,”

“You can take the one for W Korea yourself,” Minhyun says in passing. Seongwu intently searches the bag for the invitation when he finds a familiar name written on one envelope.  
_Personally special for him_ , Aron’s words ring in his head.

 _Indeed_ , the treacherous voice in his head whispers. _Special_ and _Kim Jonghyun_ are perfect to go in a sentence together—at least in Minhyun’s world.

“Seongwu?” A moment passes and Minhyun suddenly stands in front of him, concerned. “You okay?”

Seongwu’s fingers finally grasp the intended invitation for him ( _no, for your company,_ the voice says again).

Seongwu does his best to not overly react to Minhyun’s soft call, laced with concern. “Yeah,” he grins. “The invitation looks really nice, with the _shibori_ bows and everything,”  
he comments.

“Oh,” Minhyun stands there, looking at Seongwu like he’s holding back something. If the last few days feel like a storm, now Seongwu feels like he’s been hit by a flood.

“I’m done taking pictures of the collection, by the way,” Seongwu trains his eyes on his socked feet (navy blue, seal-patterned). Minhyun sits down, chewing his lips like he’s itching to say something. “Okay,” he settles, eyes intently focused on Seongwu.

“Okay,” Seongwu parrots. He pulls down the sleeves of his soft, dark green cardigan to cover his fingers—a habit her older sister noticed only comes when he’s scared. “Listen, Seongwu,” Minhyun calls when Seongwu drags his feet backwards, leaving his office.

“Listen,” Minhyun drifts off, and his eyebrows are scrunched like the gears are still turning inside his head, “I think… I think I can drive you home to Seoul tomorrow,” with a small sigh, Minhyun closes his eyes and it is dread ( _guilt? fear? resignment?_ ) that bleeds in his words. “I… don’t think you should go home yet,” Minhyun whispers.

Seongwu shuts his eyes, and he truly does not want to think about the implication of Minhyun’s words. He folds his fingers, trying to hide the tremor that they’ve developed. “I’m sorry,” he carefully crafts his words so it doesn’t get burned by the licks of fire thrumming inside his veins— “Daniel’s picking me up tomorrow, and… well, we‘re going to go with KTX back to Seoul tomorrow,”  
_None of it is a lie,_ the logical part of his brain soothes.  
_Why does it feel like it is?_ another part he can’t recognize suddenly whispers.

He knows how he sounds, alright— cold and collected, professional and careful. His mind isn’t able to process the flinch that Minhyun made, though— he’s not, he’s not that cold.

“Ah,” an exhale. “It’s okay,” Minhyun says, final.

A long, heavy silence follows. “It’s late,” a fact. Seongwu hates how he sounds so casual about it.

“I’m going to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast?”

He knows so much better than loving a person who doesn’t love.  
Seongwu always knows better.

⚘✾⚘

In the end, Seongwu doesn’t. Instead of Minhyun with his omelette and peanut butter and jelly, Minki stands on his doorway with porridge take-outs and a tablet in his hands. “I can’t believe Minhyun called me at 3 AM to buy you breakfast—I was so drunk and this is my second ibuprofen in 5 hours, what the fuck, Seongwu,” the brown-haired assistant whines.

Seongwu doesn’t ask where did Minhyun go. Minki doesn’t answer.

Daniel didn’t ask anything when Seongwu called him last night—and Seongwu is forever thankful to any entity above for Kang Daniel.  
“Hyung,” Daniel says, when they’re tucking their small luggage in the compartment.  
“I’m not going to ask,” a toothy smile is thrown, classic Kang Daniel— “but please get better soon, okay?”

Seongwu silently puts his banana milk on Daniel’s chair drink compartment when Daniel’s fast asleep.

⚘✾⚘

The thing is, Seongwu thinks it’s going to be okay. Except for the parts where it’s clearly not.

Seongwu works like his life depended on it, not because he’s ambitious—it’s just his coping mechanism. He can boast about being ambitious, having a neat list of achievements next to his name in W Korea’s staff database, but his Ravenclaw mug from that Japan outing 2 years ago says otherwise—he’s just trying to cope with his self-doubt and crippling anxiety.

On the good days, that’s what he does. He gets work done. He gets compliments from Myungsoo, the director of photography for taking great pictures, he gets a wink of thanks from Kibum for making Nana happy, he gets choco muffins from Yoojung.

On the bad days, it’s just an excuse to get through the day—he buys ramen from the convenience store downstairs, he watches Netflix until he gets asked if he’s still watching, he drinks cheap beers until his stomach decides to regurgitate. After five days, he wonders if it’s just a really rough week, or it’s just his really wounded heart acting up.

When Daniel leaves him after a movie and pizza night he realizes that the gnawing feeling in his stomach is not malnourishment, but he misses Minhyun, really, a lot, too much. Daniel and his friends (Hyunbin, Youngmin, everyone from their shared circle of friends) lend support in an awkward, weird, bro-like ways and he truly appreciates it.

One afternoon he stands in the lobby, waiting for the rain to stop and he wonders a different universe where everything is different—where he’s not scared and Minhyun’s not wounded, and they all could love all they want.  

One night, just hours after that—he wonders if he’s just making everything more difficult for himself.

The answer is yes, but he already knows that from the start.

⚘✾⚘

_**Indigo: The Man Behind The Blues** _   
_written by Ong Seongwu_

_When talking about Hwang Minhyun, one can easily wax poetics about the brand Hwang Minhyun (stylized as HMH), one of the most prominent names that came out of 2014 S/S Seoul Fashion Week. With clean lines, a penchant for extravagant simplicity, and a nod from some of K-Pop’s biggest names, HMH set its footing as a promising brand. The man behind the brand, Hwang Minhyun, decided last year that HMH is not going to be the only commercial success he makes in his career._

_This year, Hwang Minhyun starts off strong with an ambitious plan: giving up the HMH bi-yearly SFW spot for his newest creation, Blue by HMH. What started as a ‘therapeutic hobby’ turns into a whole set of new collection. The upcoming collection carries the signature HMH vibes: enigmatic colors and polished tailoring, with a little twist._

_Sitting down with Hwang Minhyun himself in his workshop in Busan, I managed to discover—_

“Hyung?” A voice comes from the direction of the elevator.  
“You’re still here?”

Seongwu looks up from his computer, eyes slightly bleary from overuse. It’s Saturday night and half of their office didn’t even come today, but Seongwu has been told that if he manages to finish all his works by this week, he’d be given a whole week off. And he really needs it, to be honest—he’s been wanting to eat 32 flavors of Baskin Robbins and cry himself to sleep just like a regular moping adult.

“Yeah, just a little bit and I’ll be done,”  
Eunwoo, his department junior walks closer to his cubicle. “Wait, hyung, isn’t the HMH article only due two weeks from now? It’s not even going to hit the stores until May,”  
“I just… want to get this over with,” he admits. He also doesn’t want to remember that the debut show is supposed to be today. Tonight. Right now.  
“And… you’re not even coming to the fashion show? I knew there’s no way Director Nana sent Yoojung instead of you,” Eunwoo mutters.

Seongwu shrugs. _I already know the collection by heart,_ his mind supplies.

⚘✾⚘

When he drops his keys on the glass bowl by his apartment door, his phone rings.

 _ **Choi Minki**_  
_Hi Seongwu, it’s Minki. Ms. Im said you were not able to make it_  
_to the show, so I decided to text you._  
_I already saw the article preview. It looks great, and we’re giving you the green light_  
_to publish it. Thank you for your hard work._

Seongwu hums. He hopes Nana only managed to meet Minki, and not… the main designer himself.

 **_Ong Seongwu_ **  
_Hello Minki, you are welcome. It was a pleasure to work with HMH._

 **_Choi Minki_ **  
_As our token of gratitude we’d like to send you a gift (I’m not taking no as an answer). Has your address on your work database changed? Ms. Im sent me your address from the database_

 **_Ong Seongwu_ **  
_No, it hasn’t. But you didn’t really have to, to be honest._

 **_Choi Minki_ **  
_We insist._

Seongwu feels his heart skips at ‘we’.

⚘✾⚘

Around five minutes before his phone alarm rings, a soft, insistent knocks are heard. Seongwu is pretty sure he didn’t make any appointments before 7 AM in the morning and he usually wakes up at his friends’ drunk calls, so he’s sure it’s not a hangover friend asking for a place to crash either.

When Seongwu opens the door, he’s not sure if he’s still dreaming or not. Hwang Minhyun stands in front of him, in an indigo padded jacket and _arashi_ -patterned shirt. His hair is soft and his face is bare—and his eyebags, gosh, his eyebags are so, so, deep. Minhyun looks frazzled and a bit… scared?

“Hi,” Minhyun starts. There’s a paper bag hanging on his fingers. “I’m just delivering this,” Minhyun sounds so unsure. “You didn’t… come,” it’s stated as a question, and Seongwu’s head pounds.

“I’m sorry,” Seongwu opens the door a bit bigger. “You can come inside if you want, I’m making breakfast,” Seongwu resolutes.  
Minhyun hands him the bag. “You don’t have to if you don’t want,” Minhyun whispers, broken.

Inside the bag lies a denim jacket, with a familiar _shibori_ panel stitched on its back. A constellation of stars greet him when he surveys the jacket intently.

Seongwu inhales, chest constricting with a feeling that he dreads (and cherishes) so much. Minhyun looks small like this, standing in his doorway with his shoulders drooped and posture agitated. “No, please… as my apology for not coming?” He explains.

“You mean it,” another statement poised as a question. Seongwu nods. Minhyun walks closer to him, invading his personal space in an instant.

“Seongwu… listen,” a sigh, “everything I’ll say is going to come out wrong,” he mutters, desperate. Minhyun looks so tired. This close, Seongwu can see his flushed neck and tired eyes, and he wishes he looks this beautiful when he’s lost and tired.  
“Then let it come out wrong,” Seongwu whispers. “I’ll try... I’ll listen, Minhyun,”

“Did you… did you not feel anything?”  
Minhyun suddenly laughs. “No, wait, I just…” Minhyun grunts, dropping his head. “I had to ask Minki, out of all people, why you bolted out when you saw the invitations,” Minhyun looks back up, and his eyes are so, so tired—Seongwu wants to kiss it so badly.  
“And tell me I’m crazy, but did you leave because I invited Jonghyun?”

“No,” Seongwu chokes out. “I think I didn’t,” his brain chops his honest words, not because he’s not sincere, but the fire inside his heart chokes him. Minhyun’s face is so, so, close, and Seongwu’s heart aches.  
“I thought you told me you’re not capable of love,”  
Seongwu loses his own game when his fingers reach Minhyun’s cheeks. “I think,”  
“I left because it was painful… to think that you were actually capable of loving someone that deeply but… you’re not even trying to love me,” his fingers trail to Minhyun’s jaw.

Minhyun’s eyes soften, forming something akin to gratitude. “Oh, Seongwu,” he whispers softly.  
Seongwu breathes in one, two, three counts. Minhyun blinks, his look sending a question Seongwu’s head cannot really register. But his heart knows that look, knows that he should be able to understand it. Minhyun’s hand falls on his face, tracing the moles scattered on his cheek.  
“Constellation of stars,” Minhyun says, softly—so, so amused.  
“You don’t understand,” Minhyun smiles for the first time today. “I’ve been thinking about you since I met you. I wanted you so badly, but I was afraid too,”  
Seongwu’s fingers moves to Minhyun’s lips, softly touching it. “It’s okay,”

Minhyun lets his eyes flutter close, letting Seongwu trace his lips for a little more. When their lips finally touch, it’s welcomed with twin sighs—they’ve both been wanting for too long. Seongwu feels Minhyun hesitating, so Seongwu touches his neck and pulls him closer, until he can feel the contours of their body mingling together.

It’s frantic, a little messy, a little impatient—Minhyun’s fingers dig into Seongwu’s t-shirt, and Seongwu groans when the fingers dip too low (yet too high for his liking). Seongwu wants to tell Minhyun how he thinks about him every day, how he thinks about him, arching on his bed, how he thinks about Minhyun’s laughs and giggles, but he’s got his lips between Minhyun’s teeth. He hopes the desperation in his kisses are enough to convey the message.

Minhyun’s fingers slide down Seongwu’s sweatpants, skimming over his boxer and Seongwu moans—  
Minhyun’s lips graze his earlobe and his boxer is now strained. Minhyun gasps when Seongwu hooks his fingers inside his jeans, tips of fingers touching his erection. Minhyun circles his right leg around Seongwu’s waist and Seongwu, purely powered by adrenaline rush, pushes Minhyun to the wall behind him. They groan when their growing hardness creates friction against each other. Seongwu palms Minhyun’s clothed ass and Minhyun sighs in ecstasy. Minhyun rocks his hips in the rhythm Seongwu makes with his palms. They don’t last long after that—when the coil finally snaps they’re in each other’s arms, sated and smiling.

They’re not going too fast this time—Seongwu feels dizzy and Minhyun’s chest heaves. The adrenaline rushes too quickly for them to feel anything but giddiness. “Breakfast first?” Seongwu finally manages to ask. Their foreheads are touching, and Seongwu’s never been more in _love_ —

But when Minhyun laughs, free and radiant, he knows he has to learn to fall in love more and _more_.

⚘✾⚘

Sunday means an alarm forgotten, a flock of people enjoying their time at the park, a set of fun activities to refresh the mind. For Seongwu, it means waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs, sheets crumpled and stained, and a heart full of contentment. Seongwu hums, slowly opening his eyes. His lover ( _oh, how his heart swells at the thought_ ) sits on the bed beside him, clad in a familiar black Calvin Klein boxer and smiling widely.

A pair of arms slid around him, followed by a whisper of “Good morning, this time I really made you breakfast,” murmured against the shell of his ear. Seongwu turns his head to the side, kissing Minhyun deeply. He twists and runs his fingers through Minhyun’s hair. “That sounds lovely,” he murmurs, pecking Minhyun’s lips like his life depended on it.

“Minhyunnie,” he calls, thumb circling against the top of Minhyun’s spine.  
“Hmm?”  
Seongwu softens his tone, lowering down his voice like he’s going to spill a secret. “Do you… want me?”

It’s full of implications—and Minhyun knows it, eyes glinting with fondness. “All of you, Seongwu. All of you,”

 

_**fin.** _

 

**Author's Note:**

> if you reach this part then you're amazing! thank you for reading ♡
> 
> some important notes:
> 
> \- obviously I don't know how a fashion magazine/designer works...  
> \- everything about _shibori_ /dyeing technique is taken from google so I'm sorry for any inaccuracy  
> \- if you want to visualise _Blue by HMH_ , [here](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0131/6922/files/Antarctica-swatches_1.jpg?16) is the picture I used for the color palette reference. The _Blue by HMH_ and HMH in general inside my head are a mix of [ORDINARY PEOPLE](https://www.seoulfashionweek.org/designers/view/ORDINARY_PEOPLE/), [Kapital's F/W 2015 collection](https://www.wgsn.com/blogs/kapital-autumnwinter-2015-runway-highlights/), and Minhyun's personal style. also, thanks to andie & bella, the ever-amazing and ever-understanding mods. you guys are fantastic! ♡
> 
> you can talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/adashofblue) (you can also drop anything [here](https://curiouscat.me/adashofblue)) 


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